There was a rustle of surprise around the room. Lorrin couldn’t make out most of it, but the petite (by elven standards) weapons master behind him seemed to be reacting with her usual snarkage. “Imagine that,” she muttered sotto voce. “People who don’t like a successful half elf. I’m shocked, truly shocked.”

Lorrin wasn’t sure how to react to that at first. The delivery had been utterly deadpan (or so he thought; if he’d been looking at Sarine rather than at the speaker, he’d have seen a facial expression that would have convinced him otherwise). He figured it out soon enough, of course; Sarine’s reputation both for being … comfortable with … the non-elven races, and for considering any pronouncement by the high and mighty an occasion for sarcasm, was well known to any of the humans who’d dealt with her. So she isn’t surprised by this, he thought. She couldn’t be one of the conspirators who would go after Nizami … could she?

Distracted by this comment, Lorrin didn’t notice one other person in the room whose reaction was … atypical, an oversight for which he would mentally beat himself up black and blue later.

The round Lifemage Lituziel, the other human in the party, raised a hand. “Sir? Is any information available about the assailants? Do we know who they are, where they might be coming from, how they’re going to attack?”

The elf regarded him as one might regard a dog who has committed an indiscretion on the carpet in the process of fetching one’s slippers. “That is not for you to know, Lifemage,” he said after a momentary pause. “Your job is simply to be close at hand in case Archmage Nizami needs medical aid. The fighting, if there’s to be any, will be done by the rest of us, and we’re the ones who’ll need to know the answers to your questions.” The human subsided, feeling that he’d overstepped his bounds, as indeed he had. Lorrin, for his part, noted that the nobleman had said nothing about him rendering aid if any of the party needed it … making it clear already who was disposable, and who was not. “Ambassador Ramorciel, will you continue the briefing, please?” the nobleman continued, glad to be shut of this interruption.

Jozefina smiled; actually, in Lorrin’s eyes, she positively scintillated. “Certainly, my lord,” she answered. Magic flowed from her hand – Lorrin didn’t realize she was such a skilled spellcaster, but it figured – and an image formed in midair that Lorrin recognized as a representation of Malacia. “We’ll be visiting Archmage Nizami in his workshop. Ensigerum Lorrin, you’ve been there.” There was a small magical glow in the image that indicated the workshop, but of course, Lorrin was completely distracted by the beautiful woman’s smile at him, to the point that he didn’t even notice. “Logistics will be as usual, we’ll be staying at the lodge reserved for diplomatic parties. A Cimmerii delegation will also be in town –“ she gracefully tipped her head in the direction of the pallid elf sitting at the table – “and we’ll be rendezvousing with them. Their head of delegation will be elven, a man from House Noctuus if I understand correctly.”

For just a moment Lorrin was puzzled at Jozefina’s tone of voice; it sounded like she was trying to conceal something, he couldn’t tell what. Her voice sounded, well, innocent, just as that of a carnival barker might as he testified to the honesty of a game he knew was rigged. Clearly, there was something going on here. However, before he could home in on it, he was startled by a vile, if sotto voce, oath in the Sanguen language coming from the seat behind him … and further startled as Sarine leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“Well, that answers the question about where the assassination will be coming from,” she muttered. “Meet me outside after this thing breaks up.”

The briefing continued, with tedious details about logistics and protocol and schedule, but Lorrin wasn’t paying attention any more.

(Note that things have now reached a point where I have to put some words in a main Errant Story character's mouth. Forgive me, Poe and Impy ... but it's kinda the point of the story. Anyway:)

Chapter 66: First date, of a sort

As promised, Sarine was waiting for Lorrin when the meeting ended. “Let’s go get something to drink,” she said, taking his arm and steering him out of the House Salaeia compound.

Lorrin was puzzled. “What? The commissary’s back that way. Isn’t that where we’re supposed to –“

The elf cut him off, for the first time in his life but hardly the last time. “That’s exactly why we’re going somewhere else.” She did not end her sentence with you dumb shit, but Lorrin felt it.

As they started down the steps of the great hall, Lorrin noticed that Jozefina Ramorciel, who’d paused with the nobleman, was watching. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like the barest hint of a smile played across the ambassador’s face, and she nodded slightly … and was that a wink? Clearly this curious little “date” (what a concept, he thought) wasn’t coming as a surprise to her. For a moment Lorrin felt a flare of indignation. He’d known ever since basic training that this small (but … fascinating) elf had a reputation for spending more time with humans, and in particular, in their beds, than elven society considered proper. (Never mind that he’d never, not once, actually met a human who’d been to bed with her, or at least admitted it.) To all appearances, that reputation extended as far as Clan Ramorciel, and now Jozefina was thinking the two of them were heading off for an assignation before the party left for Malacia. Just what does she think I am? Lorrin thought … until some mildly aching muscles reminded him that he’d just had an assignation, not twenty-four hours earlier, with a Ramorciel woman at that. Well, nothing improper was going to be happening here, just business and all, and after the mission, it would probably be months before he saw this intriguing weapons master again. He didn’t acknowledge Jozefina’s interest, but kept his eyes forward as he and Sarine left the compound.

(Thus focused, he would have no way of hearing any of the murmured conversation that Jozefina was having after seeing the two leave … which started with her declaration “So far, so good.”)

“Where are we going, Lady Sarine?” he asked, not sure of protocol in a situation like this.

His escort snorted. “Just Sarine, dammit. We’re equals here, fighters for the Sanguen – I assume you know that’s another word for ‘cannon fodder’ under the right circumstances. Anyway, there’s a little bar I know of that’ll be private enough that we can talk, because there are some things you need to know.” A sigh. “Things I didn’t know myself until that little love-fest, but I know them now.”

Wasn’t that what the briefing was for? Lorrin asked himself, puzzled, but he held his tongue as they walked. However, his tongue became loosened when he realized where they were going. “You know, don’t you, that we’re heading for the half-elf part of town? Will you be – okay there?”

Later, Lorrin would marvel that he’d survived asking that question. The fire that rose in Sarine’s eyes was … not friendly. But then it was replaced by something else, and later still, Sarine would explain it. “You cared.” For now, her face relaxed – it looked like she was making a conscious effort – and she gave him a straight answer as she passed through the gate. “I’ll be fine, and so will you.” She waved a hand at the buildings around her, now all populated by half elves. “The people here – they’re people, Lorrin. Not alien beings, not mules to be ridden until they drop. Hell’s bells, they’re more people to me than my own. That’s why we’re going where we’re going.” She gave him a penetrating look. “They were people to you too, weren’t they?”

So she knows where I was last night, thought Lorrin. That’s interesting. He nodded a silent acknowledgment, and then stayed silent until Sarine steered him through the door of a small, unmarked bar. No one else was in sight except the bartender. Lorrin might have recognized the barkeep as one of the serving staff from the dinner at Clan Ramorciel, if he’d been paying attention the evening before. However, he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

As soon as they both had a beer in front of them, Sarine’s demeanor changed … and Lorrin would almost have guessed she was scared of something. Concerned, at the very minimum; probably uneasy; and yes, “scared” wasn’t out of the question. She took a long drink from the beer, and then produced a big sigh, checking once again to make sure they were alone (almost) before continuing. “Lorrin, there’s something you need to know about House Noctuus …”

“What’s that?” Lorrin said, rather on his guard. It sounded like there was some internal matter brewing among the elves, something humans weren’t supposed to know about. Already he could see why he’d been taken out of the House Salaeia compound for this conversation, and more was to come.

His companion fixed him with an appraising stare, and he could almost picture himself being weighed once again in a magical balance, in which he would not have been entirely wrong. Then she pushed the beer away from her. “You understand,” she said, “that what I’m about to say stays between the two of us. Not a word of it makes it back to House Salaeia, or we’ll both be in deep shit. Clear?” Lorrin could do nothing but nod, and she went on.

“The Great Houses,” Sarine continued, “like to pretend that everything’s sweetness and light between the elves and the other races, and among ourselves, now that the wars among the races are centuries in the past. I hope I’m not disillusioning you here – no, scratch that, I don’t really give a rat’s ass whether I’m disillusioning you or not. But anyway, it’s not so, not by a long shot.”

Lorrin nodded. He didn’t particularly keep up on elven politics, but the fact that there were elven politics meant that Sarine’s statement didn’t come as a total surprise. And as for the other races … “I figured as much, from the first assignment I had when I came here.” Dare he tell this fascinating Viradior about that hunting trip? Well, he’d never been instructed not to, so he related what he’d seen, noting that Sarine’s face came to resemble a storm cloud as he went along.

“Damn them,” she said when he was done. “That’s just exactly what I mean about the other races. I hadn’t heard of that one, but it doesn’t surprise me. Anyway, that’s only the tip of the iceberg.” Her laugh had very little humor in it. “At least that ‘hunting party’ was mainly targeting Errants, not just any half elf that happened to be nearby.”

Lorrin was starting to object – how could anyone know that a half elf was an Errant just from the camp they were in? – but Sarine forged ahead, almost as though she’d been reading his thoughts (had she?). “There’s a big fight building in the Council about just what to do with the Errants, because some of ‘em are real trouble.” (Lorrin would come to remember these words all too well.) “Even I have to admit that. But not every half elf is an Errant, Lorrin. You know that.”

Indeed I do. “But what does this have to do with the mission, and with House Noctuus?”

“The anti-half-elf faction in the Council is led by House Noctuus,” Sarine explained. "Remember that Cimmerii in your hunting trip you were telling me about? That was probably Clea. She’s the – I guess I’d say ambassador from Cimmerii to our Sanguen people. If I guess right, she was here to make sure House Salaeia was still among the faithful.” The derision in Sarine’s face matched her voice. “So they set up a little entertainment for her.”

Lorrin didn’t like that. “I – that’s terrible, Sarine. I had no idea my employers were part of a faction that believes in killing half elves. They seemed so –“

Sarine interrupted. “Actually, they’re not. They’re one of the many Houses that are sitting right on the fence right now.” She sighed. “The problem is, Salaeia isn’t a very powerful house. Nobody out here in the boonies is. So they’ve got to make a show of going along whenever one of the zealots comes calling. That’s why they played along with that ghastly hunt. It’s also why they’re going along with this mission. Jozefina Ramorciel is a very powerful woman, Lorrin, one of the most politically powerful half elves on the planet. She came calling for exactly the same reason that Clea did: to woo Salaeia.”

Lorrin was beginning to get the picture, but there were still large holes in it to be filled in. “So we’re really going on this to protect her? Or as a show of loyalty, or what? And I still don’t get what it has to do with House Noctuus.”

“Half right,” Sarine answered. “The mission is all of those things. But you and I are there for a different reason.”

That sounded enigmatic… “Which is?” And this time he definitely felt his mind being probed, as Sarine debated whether he could be relied upon to keep the rest of the story quiet. Satisfied, she leaned forward and her voice dropped.

“Because we’re pretty sure that House Noctuus is going to be staging a provocation while we’re there, maybe even an attempt on Kiyan Nizami’s life … and you and I are there to stop it.”

Lorrin was still thinking about the … dare he call it a date? … with Sarine when he reported to the travel platform the next day.

He’d heard the strangely appealing weapons master out as she stepped briskly through the tactical situation as she expected it to be. House Noctuus, so Lorrin gathered, had a rather unsavory reputation for handling problems in ways that were … well, underhanded. Not for them were the formal, almost ritual duels that the elves favored for resolving disputes (and for which the Ensigerum were created, in case the elves in question had … reservations about a lethal clash of arms). Those of the non-elven races who clashed with House Noctuus, and it was suspected, certain elves as well, simply got dead, somehow, period. Lorrin had felt a chill as Sarine described the Noctuus proficiency with poisons. “Now what kind of way to kill a man is that?” he had asked, repulsed by the idea. (Sarine had answered: “An effective one,” and had moved on.)

What occupied his mind as they prepared for travel, however, wasn’t the tactical setup, but something else.

The beer (and a surprisingly good roast chicken) had been consumed, and the plans had been made, when Lorrin finally got up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind almost from the beginning of the encounter. “But why me, Sarine? There are plenty of Ensigerum who are better fighters than I am, and better magic users, and more experienced in these political things. Why do you, and the moderate Houses, and the half elves want me for this mission?”

Sarine’s face had changed in a way that he’d noticed immediately, and would remember for the rest of his life. The battle-hardened, almost gruff countenance had fallen away, and what remained was the look of a woman who’d felt more than her share of pain … almost a human look. A vulnerable look. And she had reached over and patted his hand gently as she gave a very brief answer, just before she stood up to go.

“Because you care, Lorrin.”

-----------

I care, Lorrin thought as he boarded the travel platform.

Well, he did care. How could one possibly understand the attitudes of men like Darko Karloviel, who joined the Ensigerum looking for “action” rather than for an opportunity to serve? He was still pondering that question as the platform functioned with the usual whsshh and he was elsewhere.

The floating city hadn’t changed much since his last visit. (He’d come to realize that in the world of the elves, nothing ever changed much, at least not on the ephemeral time scale of a human life.) The welcoming party met the delegation, just as it had before, and escorted them to the same hotel – with, apparently, the same humans doing the work of unskilled laborers, and glaring at him and the squat Lifemage Lituziel just as before. He found their gaze just as uncomfortable this time as he had then, maybe a bit more, even. They resent us, he thought. They see us as having sold out to the elves. But why? Haven’t they benefited from their jobs too? Senilis’ Antlers, aren’t they better off than the people in the villages who scrabble for a living and die too young?

When Sarine whispered in his ear, he nearly jumped out of his uniform; how could the woman move so silently? But he listened to what she had to say, wondering if she’d been reading his thoughts, and not realizing until much later that that wasn’t the answer, rather, that she’d been having similar thoughts herself. “It’s not you that they resent, Lorrin,” she said softly. “It’s us elves. And dammit, I don’t blame them. The Rinkai use them to do the dirty work up here, and then make them go back to their dirty, grimy, disease-ridden villages to live. Have you ever been to one of those coastal towns?” At Lorrin’s head shake, she continued, “I’ll tell you, it’s no way to live. But we make them do it … I tell you, though, there’s a day of reckoning coming for the Rinkai … and maybe for the rest of us, too.”

They stepped into the hotel, the eyes of the human laborers boring into their backs, and made preparations for the mission.

If Lorrin had stopped to think about it, he’d have been quite surprised that he hadn’t thought about Jozefina Ramorciel at all on this trip so far. Then again, Sarine … he was thinking about her quite a bit indeed.

Just to touch base: That timeline that Impy put up recently (thanks!) is causing a fairly significant re-jiggering of events in this story. I'm trying to get all that straight, and when I do, I'll have to make quite a large number of retcons to things already written, in this and the other "Lorrin's Story" threads. When that's complete, I'll resume here, although I'll first put up a list of the retcons so that people can go back and adjust to the new reality.

(OK, minor retcons done, nothing that should even affect the story line at all ... although future effects are a different story. So to resume:)

Chapter 69: Two delegations

Lorrin did not sleep well that night.

There was no getting around it: Sarine’s dark hints about House Noctuus, particularly their use of poisons, had left him spooked, skittish. He’d been musing about the subject when sleep finally overtook him, and several times during the night, he awoke from nightmares in which Kiyan Nizami’s wine or dinner or something caused him to turn into some variety of hideous monster, while he and Sarine looked on helplessly and a skull-like Cimmerii face cackled in the background. In the last and worst, the archmage’s body had exploded grotesquely, leaving in its wake a spider-like creature that screamed obscenities at him in Vlado Ordiel’s voice before bounding off. After that one, he lay awake for the rest of the night, dreading what might happen if he went back to sleep.

He had no way of knowing that his subconscious was aiming him at the wrong victim, of course.

Sarine looked at him with concern as he stumbled down to breakfast. “What happened? You don’t look so good.” She shoved a steaming cup of coffee in Lorrin’s direction, which he took with as much gratitude as he could muster. “Just nerves,” he smiled weakly, but he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all an elf who was peculiarly attuned to vagaries of the human mind, not to mention having the ability to read such minds.

She said nothing for a moment. Then she sighed. “Just nerves, my ass. I wish I had the authority to confine you to quarters for the morning, to get some sleep, because it’s damn obvious that you need it.” Then her severe, appraising gaze softened. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t sleep well either, probably for the same reason as you. Bad dreams about – the threat we talked about?”

Lorrin wasn’t too tired to appreciate this circumlocution. Any eavesdroppers would think the two of them were spooked by the pre-trip briefing they’d had, where the general threat to Kiyan Nizami had come up. Only he and Sarine would know that there’d been more to it than that. He nodded, smiled weakly, and picked at his breakfast, not noticing (yet) that the elf was giving him a frank, sympathetic eyeball – one that the other elves in the room would be likely to misinterpret.

An hour or two later, somewhat refreshed by the repast (and, he thought, by Sarine’s commiseration), Lorrin joined the expedition to see the great man.

The site was as he remembered it, the tallest building in Malacia, with a foyer where the introductions would be made. However, there were some differences. For one thing, magical, holographic images of the design for Triunia (he’d also heard the city project called Neo-Malacia or Malacia II, but he liked the Sanguen name better) now decorated the walls; obviously the project had progressed far enough to be coming out from under wraps, and to start cultivating some enthusiasm among visitors to the building. Lorrin could hear appreciative oohs and aahs from members of his party, nor was he immune to them himself. Even Sarine looked impressed.

The other difference was more … menacing.

The other party, the one led by House Noctuus, was in the foyer as well. Nearly all of them were elves, of course, with one or two human Ensigerum to keep up the pretense of an interspecies delegation – but not a half elf was in sight over there. All of the elves were Cimmerii, as far as Lorrin could see. Their leader did appear to be accompanying that woman he’d seen before – Ambassador Clea, Sarine had said. Would she be the one to make the attempt on Kiyan Nizami’s life? It seemed possible. Cimmerii faces were hard for a human to read, since they looked severe all the time, but she didn’t look happy about her role. In fact, she –

Lorrin recoiled as Sarine’s telepathic “voice” echoed in his mind.

<”Quit staring,”> she said. <”You’re acting like you never saw a Cimmerii before, and a couple of them are starting to notice you. You don’t want that. Besides, you’re looking at the wrong elf. That one behind her, the tall one with the Viradior uniform and the blue sash. His name is Gloric and he has plenty of half-elf blood on his hands. He’s the one we’ll want to watch.”>

Abashed, and hoping he wasn’t too obvious, Lorrin shifted his gaze away from the Cimmerii leader, but he had not yet had time to re-focus before the door opened again, as it had years before, and Kiyan Nizami strode into the room.

Lorrin tensed as the heads of House Salaiea and House Noctuus joined Ambassadors Jozefina Ramorciel and Clea in the formal diplomatic exchanges with Kiyan Nizami. However, he needn’t have. There were smiles all around (never mind that a smile on a Cimmerii face looked like a grinning skull to Lorrin’s eyes), an exchange of glowing magical credentials, and introductions of the supporting parties, all very tidy, very cordial, entirely proper, and with not the slightest hint of malice. Even Sarine at Lorrin’s own side, and Gloric among the Noctuus party, didn’t seem as tense as they had been only moments earlier. Maybe there wasn’t going to be an incident here after all.

“Well, then,” the half-elven archmage said once the formalities were over, “let me show you what has been accomplished since the last time you were here. Come with me.” He turned and strode back into the room where Lorrin had seen the projection of the city plans on his previous visit.

Lorrin had seen enough of the light show earlier not to be too overwhelmed by it this time, but he had to admit, it was still damned impressive. The architect had added considerable detail to the plans in some areas. Places where there had only been magical apparatus, needed to levitate the vast construct, on his previous trip, now were transformed into verdant park lands interspersed among the residential neighborhoods of the city. A huge meeting hall had been added, a place where the leaders of the three races could come to debate matters of governance for the common good. At the same time, there had been a downplaying of the military presence in the city; why would standing armies be needed when such a lofty site was defended so well by nature, and faced no threats?

Everything seemed to be proceeding well – until the final moments of the light show.

The head of the Noctuus delegation – Lorrin had gathered that his name was Nox, reasonably enough – committed a minor breach of protocol by clearing his throat and addressing Nizami directly, rather than speaking through his ambassador, Clea. “Archmage, if I may?” he said.

The half elf didn’t seem to mind. “Yes?”

“We have noticed,” the Cimmerii continued, “a potential security problem in your plans. Your commendable effort to improve the habitability of the city has reduced the defensible spaces, and left less room for the necessary military forces. That seems perfectly justifiable in terms of the threats from outside; our people are at peace, and the prospects of invasion are remote. However, you have neglected the possibility of a threat to Triunia from the inside.”

“Oh, damn,” Sarine whispered in Lorrin’s ear. “I was afraid this was coming.” He started to turn and reply, when he noticed two things. First, the old archmage had had that brief flash of red in his eyes, as Lorrin had seen on the previous trip when the man had first laid eyes on Jozefina Ramorciel. Second, Jozefina herself was showing just the barest hint of indignation on her lovely, composed face that Lorrin had never seen there. Now she spoke. “My lord, we’ve been over this before. There is agreement among the Great Houses that Triunia will be the safest, most secure site for our three peoples to live in harmony that can be found anywhere in the world. Enhanced security measures in such a place are surely unnecessary and detract from the value of the city as a place where all can prosper.”

She might have been preparing to say more, but in another little breach, Ambassador Clea interrupted. “Except for Errants, my dear,” she said, more than a little derision seeping through her cultured, diplomatic voice.

[Sorry for the long delay; these should become a bit more frequent now...]

Chapter 71: Truce, or not

A restless rustle began to spread among the two delegations, and Nizami’s own entourage was now glancing nervously around the room. Lorrin unobtrusively made sure his “ceremonial” sword was close at hand, and beside him, he sensed Sarine doing the same thing.

Jozefina Ramorciel seemed to be maintaining her aplomb, although those who knew her might have noticed that the composure was slipping just ever so slightly. “Ambassador,” she said evenly, “I repeat: we have covered this before. The plans for Triunia already include facilities where half elves with irreparable defects can be confined both safely and humanely, and if possible, treated.” She gestured with an elegant, bejeweled hand, and a building on the edge of the Triunia model began to glow. (Lorrin was impressed. How had she gained access to Nizami’s model? It didn’t occur to him until later – too late – that his own two visits to this place wouldn’t have been the only ones Jozefina made, not at all.) “My own people wouldn’t have it any other way. We acknowledge that there are – misfortunes that afflict us from time to time, and we are quite accustomed to the necessity of ensuring that those poor unfortunates do not cause societal disruption. In fact, this complex is modeled on some of our own.” (Was that the reason why I didn’t see any Errants when I visited Clan Ramorciel? Lorrin wondered, and there was more truth in his speculation than he was aware of.) "I assure you it will suffice to deal with the problems in Triunia. No expanded military presence is needed.”

Ambassador Clea produced a smile so thin that her teeth might as well have been fangs. “So you say, Ambassador,” she purred. “House Noctuus, I am sad to say, does not share your – excessively sanguine view of the Errant problem.” Her voice hardened a fraction. “That is because we have seen, first hand, the tragedies that result when that problem is not dealt with efficiently.” Lorrin’s grasp of the Cimmerii language wasn’t perfect, but he noticed that the adverb that the ambassador chose was, in that language, an almost perfect homonym for another meaning “mercilessly” or “ruthlessly.”

Jozefina picked up on it too. “Let us leave the word play aside, Ambassador,” she countered, just a little more heat in her voice than earlier. (“Begin grand theater,” Sarine whispered in Lorrin’s ear. “I wish we had a bag of popcorn.”) “We are all aware of the debates regarding the best way to deal with the more unfortunate members of my kinsfolk.” (“Nizami’s not liking this either,” Sarine noted, continuing her peanut-gallery role.) “Here and now are not the time and place to continue those debates. They will be discussed most thoroughly by the Council, before the design of Triunia is finalized. I remind you, however, that the current design is that which reflects the desires of the Council as they have been stated at the present time. To attempt a re-shaping of that design among those present here and now would be inappropriate.”

“That stung,” Sarine whispered, as Clea indeed looked like she’d had to pick a stinging insect off her cheek. “Josie just reminded her that her own social status is one hell of a lot higher than Clea’s. She’ll be at that Council session as a voting member. Clea won’t.” Lorrin nodded, and his hand moved just the tiniest bit closer to his sword, as he detected Sarine’s posture undergoing a similar change. Was this where a confrontation was going to happen?

But no. The Cimmerii ambassador wiped the irritated expression off her face and smiled sweetly (if a smile on the face of a skull could ever be sweet). “Of course, Ambassador,” she purred, in exactly the tone of voice she'd used moments earlier. “We simply wish to put a marker down that the matter is open for discussion. Let us continue hearing what wonders Archmage Nizami has in store for us.”

Lorrin relaxed a notch, and again, he sensed Sarine doing the same. Apparently the dangerous corner had been passed. The remainder of the discussion passed in the usual kind of cordial, diplomatic exchanges of agreeable nothings that Lorrin had become accustomed to. Half an hour later, a smiling Kiyan Nizami showed his visitors out with a bow and a flourish, as they returned to their lodging to prepare for an evening state dinner that would demonstrate their solidarity with this project.

Of course it would.

And before the group broke up, Lorrin once again noticed that glow in the archmage’s eyes, when he turned to bid farewell to Jozefina Ramorciel.

Alas, I've had to suspend work on this. The problem is that we've learned things, by way of the timeline Impy posted a while back, that simply cannot be made to fit with this story, notably the long time lag between when Malacia was destroyed by Kiyan Nizami (the year 0 TEW) and when Sarine and her husband lived, loved, and (except for Sarine) died in Santuariel I (310-315 TEW). That's rather too long for Lorrin to have spent figuring out how to court an elf. A work-around has been considered, but it just doesn't seem reasonable.

Canon obviously takes precedence over fanfic, so at least until a better workaround is found (if ever), this is on hold. Anybody got any ideas for that? And meanwhile, please post some fanfic of your own; I'll be trying a shorter (and funnier) thing over the summer, if time permits.

Hey Grey. Finally caught up with your fan-fic after a million distractions in real life got in the way. I love your take on ancient elven civilisation, the plot's intriguing and the characters well formed.

I wouldn't worry too much about making this fit the history exactly. Fan fiction is allowed to be non-canon. Be a shame to leave it unfinished over a technicality.